


Nobody Stays

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dean's sense of self-loathing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e05 The One You've Been Waiting For, Wincest - Freeform, dealing with Mary's leaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: Dean stops at a motel on the way back from Ohio to prove something to himself...and something entirely different to Sam.





	

It was the pitch-black backside of midnight with no moon in the sky when Dean pulled off the highway into a no name little town on the east side of the Kansas-Missouri border and parked in front of the office of the only hotel the town appeared to offer.

Sam roused in the shotgun seat, bleary eyed from staring at his iPad in the dark. He checked his watch and then the GPS on his phone, squinting out the windshield in confusion. 

'Why are you stopping? We're, like…' He glanced at his watch again. 'Less than two hours from home.'

'I'm beat.' Dean cut the engine and rolled his shoulders back, chicken-winging his arms to stretch out his chest. 

Sam gave him a long look. 'You just drove over ten hours straight, man, and you're going to give up on the home stretch?'

Dean shrugged. 'Sue me. I hit my wall,' he said and got out of the car before Sam could protest further. Sam scowled, flipped the iPad closed, and shoved it up on the dash, following Dean out into the brisk night air. 'Besides,' Dean grinned smugly, and said, as if it explained all things, 'I killed Hitler.'

'Oh my God.' Sam rolled his eyes. 'You are _never_ going to let that go, are you?'

'Not anytime in the near future, Sammy.' Dean continued to grin as he walked around the car and into the office to rouse the sleepy desk clerk and get them a room.

He came back and tossed the keys at Sam. 'Move the car. It's on the far side. Room 211. I gotta use the little boy's room. I'll leave the door open.'

Sam caught the keys out of the air without even looking and shook his head as Dean ducked back inside and took the shortcut through to the other side of the hotel. He moved the car, grabbed his backpack, Dean's duffle, and the weapons bag from the trunk, and locked her up. Even gave her roof a light pat as he passed by and muttered something under his breath that might had been 'sweet dreams.'

The door was cracked with the safety bar flipped back to hold it open. Dean hadn't even bothered with the lights. There was just a thin sliver shining from the bathroom door. Sam sighed and dropped the bags inside, shoved the door closed with his hip, and flipped the safety lock over. Not that it would stop anything that was after _them_. The corporeal didn't take a lot of interest in them these days, and the non-corporeal weren't going to be stopped by an aluminum lock. 

He turned into the room, reaching to find a switch on the wall, when two hundred and ten pounds of Dean slammed into him. 

He knew it was Dean. Lights or no lights, there was no mistaking the particular temperature of Dean's breath against his skin, or the shape of his body as it pressed up against Sam's, the weight of him as he pushed Sam back into the door.

'Dean, what the—?'

But Sam didn't get a chance to finish his thought. Dean's mouth was on his, hungry, demanding, and…oddly hesitant? That last didn't make any sense to Sam at all. Dean was a force to be reckoned with inside the bedroom and out. His tactics were about the same no matter what aspect of his life he was dealing with—he saw what he wanted and he went after it. Whether it was a vengeful spirit he wanted torched and burned, or Sam spread out naked on the nearest hard surface, it didn't make a difference. Once the decision was made, there was no deterring him.

So, the way Sam could feel Dean holding his breath at odd intervals, pulling back suddenly and going still, like he was waiting for something ( _permission?_ ), and then forging forward again, made some part of him sit up and pay attention. Sam let himself be held against the door, though—despite the niggling misgivings—Dean's hands on his flanks, flexing through canvas and flannel, as though he didn't know quite how to hold onto Sam. Sam brought his hands up and cradled Dean's face, thumbs rubbing at the joint of his jaw, up over the shell of his ear. He felt Dean tremble and press into him harder. 

'Now I know why you _really_ wanted to stop,' Sam said, slightly breathless. Dean huffed against his throat and then licked a path from his collarbone to just under his ear, making Sam's breath catch and twist, then he kissed back down it and nipped at the hollow of Sam's throat where his pulse was picking up and beating hard.

Dean nosed against him a couple of times, and Sam thought vaguely that it was an odd gesture, out of character, more submissive than his brother was ever prone to being, but Dean's teeth tugging at his collar and then the buttons of his shirt distracted him back to the business at hand.

'Dean, wait—just—' Sam fumbled with his jacket, shrugging out of it with some difficulty since Dean wouldn't let up on the press of his weight against Sam. 'I'd like to keep my buttons,' Sam chuckled as he began deftly undoing them, and Dean chased his fingers down, pushing the fabric out of the way with his nose and cheek, burrowing into Sam's chest and kissing and licking and sucking at random patches of skin. Sam sighed and moaned in turns. 'Jesus, Dean…what brought this on?'

His only answer was Dean sinking down to his knees, hands trailing to grip at Sam's hips, keep him pressed back to the door, while Dean nuzzled ( _nuzzled!_ ) against Sam's stomach. The stubble of Dean's more than five-o'clock-shadow caught in the fine hairs across his belly and combed through them with a odd tug-whisper feeling of skin on skin. Sam threaded his hands into Dean's hair and dared to hold him where he was. Dean stilled, and Sam could feel him breathing hot against him, but he didn't move, didn't make to pull away like he normally would whenever Sam tried to take a moment, to pause and relish in the 'now' of it.

'Dean?' Sam asked, tentatively. He brushed his fingers through Dean's hair again—once, twice—and still his brother didn't move. 'Dean.'

Dean said nothing. He dipped his head and grabbed the button of Sam's jeans between his teeth and jerked it loose. Another swift tug brought down his zipper, and Sam couldn't help the groan that escaped him, or the _thunk_ of his head against the door, when Dean pressed his mouth against Sam's quickly stiffening cock through the thin cotton of his boxers. Dean mouthed him eagerly, but softly, no teeth and no pressure to give him an edge that he could get a good grip on. Sam tried to push his hips forward, begging for some decent friction, but Dean held him fast, palms curved immovably against Sam's hipbones, pushing him back.

'De-ean!' Sam whined—honest to God _whined_ —and he thought he heard Dean chuckle, but at least it got him his brother's teeth worrying at the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down over the swollen head of his cock. He gasped at the rush of cool against his skin, damp from Dean's spit through his underwear and his own come leaking and smeared by Dean's efforts to bare him. 

Dean paused then, long enough that Sam looked down at him, dazed and flushed and so ready to feel his brothers hot, wet mouth on his cock, but Dean's eyes were…uncertain, as he gazed back up at Sam. Sam swallowed, tried to focus, to translate the intense sadness sitting at the corners of Dean's eyes; but Dean heaved a huge breath then as though he'd been waiting for an answer that hadn't come and finally forewent the question in favor of licking his lips and sliding them over the velvety soft swollen head of Sam's shaft.

Sam's hands clenched in Dean's hair, and his back bowed, shoulders coming away from the door because Dean was still weighing down against his hips, holding him still. Dean made a low sound in his throat, hummed a little as Sam thickened and filled out, stretching Dean's lips around his full girth. Dean's tongue worked in steady, strong strokes, winding around the glans like Sam was an ice cream cone, then sharpening his tongue and tracing under the ridge until Sam's knees started to shake. He slipped down the door an inch or two, but Dean's hands gripped harder and held him up.

'Dean, I—' Sam choked on his words when Dean opened up around him, sliding down until his nose was pushed hard into the wiry hairs at the base of Sam's cock, and then he swallowed and sucked hard. Sam cursed viciously, thumped his head against the door and hoped there was no one passing by to hear because he doubted the noise he was making could be mistaken for anything else but what it was. He forced his hands out of Dean's hair, tried hard not to give into the urge to grip his head and fuck his mouth good and hard. Instead, he rested his hands at the base of Dean's throat, thumbs tracing up the side of his esophagus as he swallowed again, taking Sam deeper until he nearly choked. Sam could feel him resisting his gag reflex, around the head of his cock and through his fingers as they absently and rhythmically stroked along Dean's neck in time to the surge of blood and desire through his veins. 

Dean pulled back to suckle at the head again, tongue curved and pushing against soft, swollen flesh. Sam moaned and cursed in turns, begged Dean to swallow him down again, to let him come because he could feel the heat twisting in his belly, twining at the base of his spine, torquing under more and more pressure as Dean flicked his tongue around and in, teasing the slit and humming approval when Sam twitched and jerked and gushed hot and salty across his tongue.

Sam dared to look down then, to see Dean with his eyes closed and face flushed, lips slick with spit and come, stretched around Sam's shaft, working up and down it, getting it wetter and wetter, slicker and—

'Holy shit!' Sam jerked hard, his whole body going stiff as his hips twisted under Dean's grip and he came hard enough to see falling snow at the edges of his vision. Dean took him deep as he pulsed out his orgasm, swallowing him down until he coughed in an effort to breathe, but he didn't let up, just kept sucking until Sam was dry and shuddering and whimpering from the shocky static pulses across his oversensitive nerve endings. He came off slow and easy, let Sam go soft in his mouth before he finally let go and sank down onto his haunches to gaze up at his little brother.

'Dean…' Sam breathed his name and the sadness around Dean's eyes seemed to intensify for a moment before he pushed up to his feet and stepped into Sam's space and kissed him, gently and slowly, letting Sam taste himself and lick Dean's mouth clean of the musky, salty remnants of himself. 'Dean…'

Dean pulled away when Sam's hands roamed down to cup the bulge in Dean's jeans. He smiled softly and slipped out of Sam's clumsy, grappling reach and into the bathroom, shut the door, and Sam felt a stab of disappointment go through him. He frowned and tried to tug together enough of his thought processes to understand why Dean would pull away from him, but his blissed out brain wasn't good for much more than stumbling to the nearest bed and falling in face first. 

He was dimly aware of the shower starting and sleepy as he was, he still lay and listened for the telltale sounds of Dean jerking off under the hot spray, but there was nothing. He drifted a little, kicked off his boots and clothes on the crest of a wave that brought him close to consciousness and then drifted back down until the water shut off and Dean came back out of the bathroom. He stopped by Sam's bed, but when he didn't make a move to slide under the covers with him, Sam snaked out a quick hand to grab at his wrist and tug him close. 

'Come here,' Sam commanded, a little slurred. 

'Go to sleep, Sam,' Dean said.

'Will. Just as soon as you c'mere,' Sam countered, tugging again.

Dean sighed heavily and gave in, lifting the covers to slide in beside Sam and let his thousand yards of lean limbs find their way around Dean's body and snug him up close into Sam's side. 

'Jesus, let a man breathe,' Dean groused fondly. Sam answered by pushing his head up under Dean's chin and  nuzzling closer. Dean huffed a breath and threaded his hands into Sam's wayward hair, finding the tender spots on his scalp with ease and rubbing in gentle circles. One of Sam's hands wandered low on Dean's belly and Dean grabbed it, pinned it to his chest, and tightened his grip in Sam's hair when he tried to look up.

'Dean?'

Dean could hear the question in Sam's voice, all six billion of them actually, but he had no intention of answering. 'Sleep, Sam.'

'No. Dean, tell me what's going on.' Sam struggled to lift his head again, but Dean held him fast. Only when he stopped trying did Dean finally speak,

'She was pretty cute, wasn't she?'

'She…?' Sam struggled to keep up with Dean's track-switch in thoughts. 'Ellie?'

Dean nodded. 'Smart. Med student. She didn't really even freak out that bad once we got past the whole Hitler's-grand-neice thing. I mean, she kinda accepted it all pretty quick, and that was one hell of a head shot. Did it drugged up, too. I was impressed.'

Sam circled Dean's wrist and twisted, quick and hard, sacrificing a few strands of hair to get loose of his brother's grip and elbow up so he could look him in the face, scowling hard. 'Dean, what the hell are you talking about?'

Dean avoided his gaze, tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling instead. 'Someone like her, you know, Sammy,' he said. 'Would be good for you. Settle you down. Keep you in line.'

Sam pushed up farther, looming over Dean, face a thundercloud of fury now. 'What the fuck, Dean?'

Dean turned away. 'Knew this wasn't going to last forever, Sam. You didn't really think it could, did you?'

Sam stared, open mouthed, fully awake now and vibrating with shock and anger. 'I don't believe you,' he said. 'I don't _fucking_ believe you!' Dean flinched and dared a glance back into his brother's face, raw with hurt. Sam shook his head in disbelief. 'After all this time, and you still think I'm going to just drop you like a rock and go live a civilian life.'

'Nobody stays, Sammy.'

Sam opened his mouth to rage again at his brother's stupidity, but the little boy hurt and fear got through belatedly and shut him down, deflated him fiercely and suddenly. 

Dean was scared. More than that—he was terrified. That's what all this was about, some twisted version of a good-bye for Dean because he believed that Sam would leave, just as Mary had left, just as everyone they'd ever known had left, because of some fundamental flaw in Dean's makeup. 

Sam sighed, long and low, and reached to cup his brother's face and turn it so he could see his eyes shining in the dim light from the one window behind him. 'She's coming back, Dean,' he said with as much quiet conviction as he could muster. 'And even if she doesn't? _I'm_ not going _anywhere_.' 

That statement took no conviction at all. It was the God's honest truth. It had been a fundamental truth that he had been trying to escape for years, until at long last he was accepting it, and he was…happy.

Dean blinked and Sam felt a single hot tear slip across his fingers where they rested on Dean's cheek. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his brother's mouth, tilted their foreheads together and breathed there for several seconds, listening to the beat of the their hearts between them. 

'Dean, I'm here,' he said. 'I'm _here._ '

Dean nodded slowly after several long, shaky breaths, and when Sam gently tugged his hand loose of his brother's grip and dragged it down across the plane of his stomach, across his belly, down over the curve of his hip, Dean let him, let out a breath that sounded as though he'd been holding it for days. Maybe even longer.

It took no time at all, none of the tricks Sam knew so well, no finesse of any kind, just his long fingers wrapped with precise pressure around Dean's cock and a few hard, steady strokes. Dean panted high and light and arched up off the mattress as he spilled hot and sticky over Sam's hand while spilling Sam's name from his lips again and again like some kind of prayer to keep him grounded to earth or guide him to Heaven, Sam wasn't sure which.

They didn't speak after, though Sam had a lot more to say, and he knew the light of day would find his brother wrapped up in armor again. The little boy would be closeted away, hushed into silence, pacified with brusque assurances that rang false about how everything would work out. Sam wished he could make those assurances true; and for himself, they were. He believed Mary would return, eventually, in some form. She may never be their mother, not as they knew her or remembered her or expected her to be; but Sam could live with that. He would accept her love, however she was able to give it, and he hoped that one day, Dean would be able to as well.

Sam settled back against Dean's side, pressed his cheek close into the side of Dean's neck and planted a soft kiss at the hollow of his throat. Dean's fingers found their way back into Sam's hair and stroked slowly, grazing against his scalp, and he felt an answering kiss against the top of his head. 

The last thing Sam was conscious of was Dean curling in toward him and tangling their legs together before his breathing dropped off into a gentle snore.


End file.
